


The Lace Underneath

by Fallen_Angel_Meg



Category: Supernatural
Genre: 5 + 1, Alistair is a creep, First Meetings, M/M, Panty Kink, Rape/Non-con Elements, Stripper!Dean, Strippers & Strip Clubs, not between dean and cas
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-27
Updated: 2017-05-27
Packaged: 2018-11-05 09:08:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,981
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11010336
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fallen_Angel_Meg/pseuds/Fallen_Angel_Meg
Summary: Sometimes when Dean performs, he'll slip on a pair of panties because he likes them, okay? Not to mention the extra bills that are tossed his way when he does. While he's used to strangers vying for his attention and tripping over themselves to get more of him, he's not prepared for when a certain pair of blue eyes has the tables turned on him.





	The Lace Underneath

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the Fandom Writing Challenge [May 2017]  
> Theme: Random  
> Prompt: Panties
> 
> **Warning: There is a moment of non-con touching, but it's brief and stops before it goes too far

Saturday nights are simultaneously heaven and hell, right behind Friday nights. They’re always the two nights when the club is the most crowded with all sorts of people; bachelor and bachelorette parties alike, business men fulfilling their dirty little fantasies after a long work week. Anyone looking for a good time, really. The Crossroads tends to be filled more with men than women, but hey, business is business and they’ll open their doors to anyone willing to pay.

It doesn’t matter to Dean either way. Men, women – whoever stuffs a few bills in his tip jar or the skimpy fabric of his G-string doesn’t matter. For now, he’s decently dressed while manning the bar with his friend, Benny, before performance time. Benny’s not a dancer, but he alternates between bartending and cooking in the kitchen.

Benny’s pouring a round of shots for a bachelor party while Dean’s busy mixing a couple of mojitos for two guys that have been eyeing him since they walked up. Dean hands over the finished mojitos, giving them a wink before they leave with suggestive smirks. A petite red headed woman then fills the empty space.

“Hi there,” Dean greets with an overly kind smile. “What can I get for you?”

The girl hardly looks affected by his charm. She sighs dramatically, leaning her elbows on the bar. “Give me a peach mule and a pint of whatever draft beer ya got. Surprise me.”

Dean raises his eyebrows. “Comin’ right up.” He gets to work on the peach mule first, turning his back briefly to gather his liquor and garnishes before going to work on making the drink. He can’t help but notice the red head looking over her shoulder into the crowd. Since his charms didn’t seem to impress her, Dean goes another route to try and earn a decent tip.

“You seem distracted – and not by the half-naked guy dancing on stage,” Dean says conversationally.

The girl turns back to him with a smirk. “That’s because I’m a ladies kind of gal.”

“Ah.” The disinterest makes sense now. Not that Dean’s about to toot his own horn, but it’s pretty rare for him to be working – either dancing or bartending – and not get ogled by patrons. “So if you play for a different team, how’d you end up at a male strip club?”

The girl waves somewhere over her shoulder. “My friend and I made a bet. If I lost, I’d have to ask out the girl I’ve been crushing on for, like, ever, and if he lost, he’d have to go to a strip club.”

“So he lost.”

“Bingo.”

“Why a strip club? Doesn’t seem much like a consequence for losing.”

The girl laughs. “You don’t know Castiel. He’s pretty shy when it comes to dating and meeting guys, so I thought bringing him would make dating seem less scary, ya know?”

Dean snorts. “So now strippers are scary?”

“You know what I mean,” she huffs, but a smile plays on her lips.

“I’m teasing,” Dean chuckles. He really does understand. For someone who is apparently shy, adult clubs like this are probably overwhelming compared to innocently meeting for coffee. Gives a person some perspective. “So which one is he?”

The girl spins around, picking through the crowd before pointing towards a pub table along the side of the stage. “The guy in the dorky trench coat.”

The guy – Castiel? – is too far away to make out many details, but Dean can’t help but smile at the sight of him; blue tie loosened around his neck, eyes down turned from Bart, who’s slowly dancing out of his businessman costume, while his fingers nervously play around with a napkin. It’s kind of adorable. Oh god, he did not just call some guy adorable…

To escape the thought, Dean garnishes the peach mule before stepping away to pour some beer from the tap. He slides both drinks towards her while she just pulls out a single twenty dollar bill and lays it down on the bar.

“Good luck with your friend. Maybe I can loosen him up when I hit the stage,” Dean tells her with a friendly smile as he turns to the cash register to get her change.

“Ohh.” She wiggles her eyebrows suggestively. “I’m sure Cas will be happy to see you up there. And keep the change, by the way.”

“Wow, um, thanks…”

“Charlie.”

“Charlie,” Dean echoes. He almost introduces himself too but stops before he can reveal his real name. He’s a little disappointed because Charlie seems like a cool girl. And Castiel, even from a distance, doesn’t look half bad either. “Well, it was nice to meet you. And just a piece of advice, you should ask that girl out anyway.”

Charlie blushes, taking the two drinks in hand. “Yeah, maybe.”

Dean watches her deliver the drinks to the table but can’t spare enough time to stick around before Benny’s in his ear about how he needs to go get changed for his performance. He makes his way back stage and to the locker rooms, peeling off the too-tight t-shirt and jeans in favor of a looser fitting AC/DC shirt, a leather jacket, and a black, lacey thong to go under his special pair of jeans. He heads off to wait for Michael’s performance to end, excitement swirling in his veins before Gabriel gives his introduction and the guitar to his song starts up – _You Shook Me All Night Long_.  

If there’s one thing Dean likes about dancing, it’s feeling the thick beat of the music pump through his veins. He can dance to any song they want him to – and sometimes it’s a necessary part of the job – but whenever they give him freedom to choose his own song, his defaults are some of his favorite classic rock songs. Sometimes he needs to get lost in the music to distance himself from the gawking eyes and greedy hands that try to get away with too much.

Tonight, he’s dancing to a little AC/DC.

Feeling the beat of the drums vibrate through the floor and into his bones, the guitar enunciating the sway of his hips, the voice of Brian Johnson narrating his dance. It’s a nice, upbeat tune, so his audience is singing along and giving him encouraging whistles. He’s so caught up in the moment that he almost forgets to look for Charlie and Castiel.

It’s just as he’s pulling off his shirt that he finds them in the sea of faces not too far from the stage. Holy shit, though. Dean can see those piercing blue eyes from here, staring right at him. He almost loses track of his routine because of them, but experience allows him a quick recovery and Dean even throws him a wink. A chorus of whistles and catcalls erupts from it, and Dean nearly bursts out laughing when he sees the bright shade of red that colors Castiel’s face before immediately picking up his pint of beer and fucking chugging the thing.

For the rest of his performance, Dean continually glances over towards him, making sure to catch Castiel’s eye while he unbuttons his jeans, sliding the zipper down nice and slow, and teases the black lace hiding underneath. By the time Dean gets around to actually shedding his jeans, he’s pretty damn hard just from the brief eye contact he shares with Castiel. A part of him is actually worried he might give the audience more than what they paid at the door for. Thankfully, he makes it through the rest of his routine without any slips.

When the time comes to do hot seats, Dean intends to invite Castiel for a semi-private dance, but Balthazar annoyingly beats him to it. Man, what Dean would’ve given to see those blue eyes up close. It’s a real shame. When a break comes for new dancers to rotate in, that’s Dean cue for quitting time. Money-wise, it wasn’t a bad night, but Dean wishes he got a little more than money. Oh well. He shouldn’t let a pair of nice eyes and disheveled, dark hair do funny things to him anyway.

*****

Every day Dean works, part of him scans the crowd a little more closely for a certain pair of blue eyes. And every time, he’s disappointed. Not a single sight of Castiel. It’s stupid, honestly. Why is Dean even wasting his energy looking for some nerdy dude? He hasn’t even talked to the guy. It’s stupid.

It’s been two weeks since Charlie and Castiel visited The Crossroads and Dean’s given up hope Cas will ever show his face again. Besides, Charlie did say he was more reserved, so what was he expecting? By the way Dean recalls Castiel chugging his beer with the widest pair of eyes, there’s no way he’ll be stepping foot inside this place. At least, that’s what Dean believed until Balthazar waltzed into the locker room with the biggest smile.

“Blue Eyes is back and I’m staking my claim now,” he practically purrs, stepping up to his locker beside Dean’s. None of the other guys seem to care about the announcement, but Dean definitely does. It takes effort to not allow his mind to jump to conclusions so fast, though. Balthazar could be talking about any number of men.

“Who?” he asks nonchalantly.

“A guy I danced with a couple weeks ago. Has these gorgeous eyes. He’s the one wearing the trench coat, so any other pair of blue eyes is all yours tonight.”

Dean’s heart does an excited little flip but he covers it with a smirk. “How about I dance with whoever I want, hm?”

Balthazar shrugs. “Have at it, but be prepared for rejection. He came back for me. Can’t resist my accent, you know.”

Dean laughs. “We’ll just have to see who he prefers, won’t we?” Without waiting for an answer, Dean digs out his phone and walks away. He shoots a text to Gabriel to request a change in his song choice tonight. If Balthazar wants to be that arrogant, Dean’s just gonna have to make him eat his words.

Through the introductory dance, Dean easily spots Castiel in his trench coat near the back. He’s alone this time. When the dancers mingle through the crowd to give them a small taste of what’s to come, Dean’s irritated that Balthazar somehow beats him to Cas yet again. When the opening performance is over, Balthazar gives Dean the biggest, cocky smile and it pisses Dean off.

Waiting through the other guys’ performances is torture. Dean’s antsy to get out there and experience what Balthazar’s been able to do twice now, and he’s worried Cas might duck out before his turn to dance. However, Dean’s time does come and he has to settle his anxiety. This dance needs to be nothing but the utmost control on his part.

He patiently waits while the opening sequence of the song fills the room, taking a few deep breaths in time with the beat before stepping out onto the stage with the first lyric.

“ _You know you shook me_.”

Dean walks slowly, carefully, feet stepping on each languid beat of the drum while dragging a chair behind him.

“ _You shook me all night long_.”

He places the chair in the middle of the stage and begins to dance, occasionally using it as a prop to stretch his body out on. He’s satisfied he decided to change songs. Originally, he was planning on dancing to _Cherry Pie_ by Warrant, but this song works so much better for chair dancing and seduction. Dean decided to switch to Zeppelin’s _You Shook Me_ because he figured it was a nice connection to the first time Cas saw him dance to _You Shook Me All Night Long_ , but he wasn’t anticipating just how good the slow, sultry tempo would feel. He briefly thinks of them fucking to the song. A very bad thought.

As Dean begins shedding his clothes one article at a time, he makes sure to keep level eye contact with Castiel, especially when he eventually ends up in nothing but a pair of bright red panties – which was supposed to match the song _Cherry Pie_ , but whatever. He doesn’t spend the whole song staring at Castiel, but enough to make it known Dean’s looking specifically at him, and Dean’s fairly certain Castiel knows it. He can’t seem to decide whether to look at Dean or not.

By the end of the song, Dean has a nice wad of dollars stuffed in the waistband of his panties and even more littering the floor. The hungry look in Castiel’s eyes by the end of the song is much more rewarding.

Afterwards, Dean is summoned away from stage work to perform private dances in the back rooms, so it’s doubtful he’ll see Castiel for the rest of the night. The universe makes up for his disappointment when he overhears Balthazar complaining to Michael that _Blue Eyes_ didn’t stick around for a private dance.

*****

Dean’s surprised when Castiel shows up again the next week. Only this time, it’s Wednesday.

Different clubs and bars have their own way of running operations, but at The Crossroads, they don’t perform full-length shows every night. That’d be insane. In between spending time to practice new routines, do private parties _and_ private dances, it’d be too much for the performers to handle a show every night. Show days are Thursday through Saturday. Monday through Wednesday, the club is open, but it operates as a regular bar with the occasional strip show, but nothing major. It’s not like many guys come in anyway. Which is why it’s strange when Dean spots that familiar trench coat walk through the doors.

Dean watches as Castiel finds his way to the same table he was at on Friday, and like last time, he’s alone again. Dean sends a silent ‘thank you’ to the universe for Balthazar not working today. There’s no way that pompous ass is gonna steal Cas from him a third time. It’s too bad Dean’s not dancing on the stage tonight. He’d volunteer for an impromptu performance just for Castiel, but he’s alone to tend the bar tonight while Benny’s in the kitchen.

Aaron, who waits tables more than he dances, approaches Cas’ to take his order. Dean busies himself with wiping down the bar, trying to be inconspicuous about the way he’s watching them out of the corner of his eye. It’s a little harder to keep his cool when Aaron makes his way towards him with what’s sure to be Castiel’s drink order.

“Hey Dean – I need an Angry Orchard.”

Dean feels out of his body as he nods and fetches a bottle of the hard cider. He just about to hand it over to Aaron when he stops himself. It’s not very busy right now. The couple of guys at the bar are still working on their beers and no one else has walked in since Castiel. He won’t be missed if he steps away for a minute.

“If it’s all the same with you, I’d like to deliver this one personally.”

Aaron shrugs. “Go for it.”

Dean pops the top of the bottle off before grabbing a glass and making his way to Cas, ignoring the lingering stares he gets as he passes by a few other guys. Castiel’s eyes catch his as he’s walking, his blush is visible even before Dean arrives at the table.

“One Angry Orchard,” Dean announces with a patented smile. He tips the bottle into the chilled glass to pour out the drink, taking the time to study Castiel’s face more closely before setting it down on his cocktail napkin.

“Thank you.” Castiel’s tone may be soft, but holy hell, his voice has an instant effect on Dean’s body. It’s deep and gravelly and… fuck.

“Castiel, right?”

Eyes widen as they flicker up to meet Dean’s. “Um, h-how –“

“I heard you lost a bet to your friend, Charlie. Keep losing ‘em, huh?” Dean gives him a small wink despite the flutter in his chest.

Castiel huffs a small breath, something between indignant and nervous, and it makes Dean feel a little guilty. He doesn’t want make the guy uncomfortable, but damn – it’s been driving Dean crazy not to finally see those eyes up close. He’s about to close the very brief conversation before Castiel clears his throat.

“That man with the British accent isn’t here tonight, is he?”

Dean’s heart sinks. “Uh, no. Sorry, buddy.”

But wait – is that… relief in his eyes?

“Oh, okay. Um, thank you, again. For the, uh, drink.”

Dean watches as Cas’ eyes travel downwards, followed by a thick swallow. It makes Dean smirk to himself. Yep, Cas is definitely staring at the strap of his pink, lace thong visible on his hip. On these slower nights, Dean has to do what he can to get some extra tips, and maybe reel in someone for a private dance. This usually means wearing an uncomfortably tight shirt that rides up whenever he lifts his arms with some low-cut jeans that show off his thong even better in the back.

“You know, Cas,” Dean says lowly, taking a small step closer. “I’d love to show you what it looks like with the jeans off sometime.”

He doesn’t wait for Cas’ reply before turning and strutting his way back to the bar, but he definitely hears the sharp intake of breath from behind him. All the while, he has to try not to smile like a damn school girl who’d just got complimented by the cutest guy in school.

*****

“Alistair’s here,” Dean grumbles. Benny immediately looks up at him from where he’s sitting on the bench. They’re both in the locker room, Benny on his break while Dean’s just about ready for the show to start in a few minutes.

“You want me to get Hendriksen?”

Dean sighs. “No, it’s fine.”

Benny looks less than convinced though. “Dean, he knows the rules. If he can’t listen to a simple ‘don’t touch the merchandise’, I’ll happily kick him out on his ass myself.”

Dean snorts. “Don’t. He may be a creep, but his money’s paying the bills. I can’t lose a big spender like that.”

“Doesn’t mean the jackass gets to grope you without permission.”

Benny’s right, but the dilemma remains the same. Dean needs money; slimy assholes like Alistair have it. Sometimes, a little dignity has to be sacrificed for it. It’s a sad truth, but a truth nonetheless. Honestly, that’s not even why Dean’s so irritated right now. It’s the fact that it’s Friday night and fucking Alistair is here instead of Castiel. Dean hadn’t seen Cas when he peeked out at the crowd. He’d thought for sure Cas would be here this weekend for a show, especially after Dean’s suggestion on Wednesday. But Thursday and Friday were both glaringly Cas-less and now Saturday night’s a bust too.

Fan-fucking-tastic.

“Come on, Winchester! We don’t got all damn day,” Michael calls to him.

Benny gets to his feet. “I’m serious, Dean. Don’t even go to his side of the room, alright?”

Dean gives him a small smile. “I expect some nachos waiting for me when I’m done.”

“Whatever you say, brother.” Benny claps him on the shoulder before making his way back to the bar.

Looking into the mirror, Dean gives his reflection a pretty convincing fake smile before following the other guys into position for the show. About thirty seconds later, the opening guitar to _Don’t Threaten Me With a Good Time_ thrums through the speakers.

Show time.

It’s pretty easy for Dean to fall into character. All he has to do is let the music flow through him and bask in the whistles and dirty suggestions thrown at him. About half way through the song, all the guys are stripped down to their G-strings and thongs and jock straps as they disperse into the crowd. Dean’s got his eye on a nice looking guy when a familiar voice calls his stage name. Turning, dread fills Dean’s stomach.

Alistair.

Dean’s prepared to ignore him, but his eyes catch on the Benjamin Franklin perched between two fingers. His legs don’t even hesitate before slinking his way over to Alistair and straddling his lap. Dammit, he’s such a slave to money.

“It’s been awhile, _Righteous_ _Man_.”

Dean resists cringing at the nasally voice and the alcohol laden breath. Instead, he arrogantly plucks the bill from Alistair’s fingers and shoves it under the lace waistband of his panties before going on with his dance, though not without a cocky smirk.

“Almost thought you’d left town.”

Alistair grins. A shiver goes down Dean’s back.

“Of course not. I’ve,” Alistair’s hands slide up to caress Dean’s thighs, brushing the lace trim, “missed you.”

Dean clenches his jaw. “No touching, Alistair.”

His hands don’t move though. He just leans up to whisper into Dean’s ear, breath uncomfortably hot. “I’m prepared to pay double my usual if you let us break some rules tonight.”

Well, that’d certainly be a chunk of change, but there’s no way Dean’s that desperate to let _Alistair_ lay those filthy hands all over him and then some. “No,” Dean grits out, starting to ease off Alistair’s lap.

Hands grip his hips, finger nails tearing through the delicate lace, as Dean’s yanked back down. “I’m not in the mood to play hard to get,” Alistair growls.

“Get your fucking hands off me!” Dean rips himself free, though it costs him some of the dainty lace in the process. He only notices because it’s clutched in Alistair’s fist.

“Petulant whore,” he sneers. “Someone needs to teach you how to treat a paying customer.”

“Tell it to security, asshole” Dean spits before shoving his way through the still crowd. The music’s still playing, but all eyes have turned to watch the scene. And somehow, through the hundreds of eyes watching him, Dean still manages to catch sight of the familiar pair of blue ones.

Face burning, Dean looks away and quickly disappears through the stage door, the sound of raised voices and then scuffling getting shut out by the door. Dean leans against it, letting out a shaky breath. In fact, his whole body is shaking. He’s not sure what’s worse though; Alistair’s unwanted touch or the fact that Cas – and everyone else, but _Cas_ – witnessed the entire scene.

Today just really fucking sucks.

*****

Dean takes some sick days after the scene with Alistair, though that was mostly Benny’s doing. Dean hates to admit he needed time to step away from dancing, but as he’s walking into The Crossroads a few days later, he’s wishing he took another day. Hang out with Sam, work on the Impala. Anything but be here where people view him as a lesser human being.

“Dean.”

The sound of Crowley’s voice makes Dean freeze in his tracks. Great, the goddamn owner. Is Dean about to get fired? 

Sighing, Dean turns to look at him. “Yeah?”

Crowley smirks to himself. “You’re on dish duty tonight.”

“Um, excuse me?” Is he fucking serious? He’s demoting Dean to a fucking _dishwasher_?

“You’ve been requested for a private dance, but afterwards, you’re in the kitchen.” Crowley’s smirk softens minutely. “It’s just for today.”

Then Dean understands. Crowley’s actually… doing something nice. For once. But it’s not like Dean’s gonna show just how grateful he is for it. He’s got a façade to uphold.

“Fine.”

Dean continues on his way towards the locker room to change for whoever the hell requested a private dance on a Tuesday evening. His stomach churns as he sheds his street clothes in favor of plain, black G-string. He doesn’t feel like slipping into a pair of panties tonight.

Taking a deep breath, Dean steels himself and walks to the only room that has the curtain drawn over the doorway. He’s about to give a sultry smile and suggestive greeting when he freezes in place.

“C-Cas?”

Castiel, who was flipping through a collection of CDs, startles at the sound of Dean’s voice and turns around. His eyes immediately fall downwards before looking away, cheeks turning pink.

“Hello.”

Dean shudders. Damn, that glorious voice.

“You… You’re the one who requested me?”

Castiel straightens his shoulders and looks directly at Dean. “Yes. Is that alright?”

“What? I mean, sure. It’s alright. I’m just… surprised.” Dean’s aware he’s stammering, but there’s so many things not making sense right now. First of all, why did _Castiel_ request _him_? Second, Dean can’t recall a time a client asked if he was fucking _alright_ with giving a performance. He’s used to demands. Third…

“Weren’t you the one to suggest I request private time with you?”

Dean can’t help but chuckle at the way Cas tilts his head, eyebrows scrunched up in honest confusion. “Yeah, but I guess I didn’t…” Dean waves his hand vaguely.

“I didn’t think I’d have it in me either,” Castiel admits.

“No – fuck. That’s not what I meant.” Sure, Cas seems a bit more socially awkward than ninety percent of the guys who come to The Crossroads, but Dean never thought Cas would want _him_.

Castiel’s eyes glitter with amusement. “It’s alright. But, um,” the amusement fades, replaced with nervousness. “I know this is probably not socially acceptable, but I don’t know the etiquette of these… situations. I, um – this is for you.”

Dean glances down to see a small box perched in Castiel’s hand. Was he holding that the whole time? Dean stares at the box, unable to process what’s happening.

“This is awkward,” Castiel states bluntly, but it actually makes Dean grin. “I’m sorry. I’ll go.”

“Hey – wait. Let’s see it,” Dean says quickly, lurching forward before Cas can take back the proffered box. As he undoes the silk ribbon tied around it, Dean catches the way Castiel worries his bottom lip with his teeth. His attention’s dragged back to the gift when he opens the lid to reveal black tissue paper. This cannot be what Dean thinks it is… Moving the tissue paper aside, Dean sucks in a small breath.

They’re pink. A pretty, rosy shade. They’re satin, with hints of delicate lace sewn over where the fabric would rest on his hipbones. They’re beautiful.

Dean gingerly brushes his fingers over the soft fabric, almost scared he might ruin them even with a simple touch. There’s no way Cas didn’t spent a pretty penny on these.

“Do you like them?”

Dean glances up to find Cas watching him warily.

“Like them? Cas, they’re – “ Dean huffs a small laugh. “They’re awesome. But… why?”

“That man ruined your other pair.” There’s no denying the underlying anger in Cas’ quiet words. “I figured you’d like to replace them.”

Like hell Dean will ever wear these to work. They’re too nice to be ruined with sweat and grubby fingers and dirty bills. He shouldn’t even think about wearing them at all…

“Thank you.” Dean’s voice is thicker than he intends, but an overwhelming amount of emotion closes up his throat. He barely even knows this guy, and yet this simple, kind gesture is making his heart thump loud in his ears and his stomach do somersaults. He carefully replaces the tissue paper and puts the lid back in place. “Really. This is… way too nice of you.”

The corner of Castiel’s mouth lifts in a shy smile. “I’m glad you like them.”

Dean walks over to the stereo and presses play on whatever’s already in the player. When _What Is And What Should Never Be_ starts playing, he smiles to himself. Normally he’d pick something more upbeat, but strangely, it seems appropriate for the moment.

“What are you doing?”

“Giving you what you paid for.” Dean turns and gives him a wink. Dean suppresses a smile when it makes Cas blush wildly yet again. “Unless you don’t want the dance.”

Castiel’s eyes widen and he shakes his head. “N-no, I do.”

Dean smirks and makes his way towards Castiel, always maintaining eye contact. He gently pushes Cas back into the cushioned chair, who moves compliantly under Dean’s hands. It takes a bit of effort not to just help himself to Castiel’s waiting lap, but he manages to exercise some self-control. He takes his time leaving lingering touches over Cas’ body, relishing the way his breath hitches every time. When Dean finally lowers himself down onto Castiel’s thighs, he’s more than pleased to feel Cas’ dick hard and straining against his slacks against his ass. It only takes some maneuvering of his hips for Dean’s hard on to brush against Cas’, and it causes them both to moan quietly. Shit – Dean shouldn’t even be thinking of letting himself come.

In an attempt to maintain his professionalism, Dean focuses on giving Cas the best damn lap dance he’ll ever have. Swiveling his hips, teasingly rutting their erections together, Dean relishes in the breathy moans he’s drawing out of Cas. Unfortunately, he isn’t deaf to how he’s making similar sounds himself.

Fuck the rules.

“Cas – please touch me,” Dean whispers.

That’s all it takes for Cas to release the armrests he’d been gripping like a vice to settle his hands on Dean’s hips, soft and gentle.

“Can I make you come, Castiel?” Dean pants out.

Castiel groans. “Yes…”

“Dean. My name’s Dean.” Wait - Dean just gave his real identity. Fuck.

Fuck, fuck, fuck –

“Dean,” Castiel moans, and it sends a shudder down Dean’s back. Suddenly, it doesn’t even matter. All Dean can think is how good his name sounds coming out of Cas’ mouth. He grinds himself against Cas, rolling his hips smoothly so their cocks rub together through too many layers of fabric. Time is barely a concept to Dean, so he has no idea how long it actually is before Cas is gripping his hips harder while he arches off the back of the chair, mouth parted as he cries out Dean’s name. Just that image alone is all it takes for Dean to follow his lead, come dripping out from under his G-string as his body shudders and shakes with waves of pleasure.

Panting, the both gradually come down from their orgasms. Dean waits for the dread of what he’d just done to hit him, but it doesn’t happen. Looking into Castiel’s glazed over eyes, he can’t help but have some sort of weird trust in the guy. And okay, he’s had a major crush on him since the first night Cas came in. Damn, Dean’s never felt this way about someone he’s met at work. His job never morphs into personal pleasure. But Castiel just had to show up in that ridiculous trench coat and it’s like Dean never had a chance.

“I’m sorry I crossed the line,” Castiel murmurs, still a little breathless.

“You did nothing I didn’t want,” Dean admits with a blush heating his face.

“I’ll give you extra. I didn’t intend to come in and have you get in trouble. I’m s–“

Dean gently puts a finger over Castiel’s lips, which earns him an adorable eyebrow scrunch.

“Just say you’ll come back and have a drink with me tomorrow after my shift. Then we’re square.”

Dean pulls away his finger, but Castiel doesn’t speak. He just nods slowly.

“Good. I’ll see you tomorrow then.” Dean gives him one last, charming smile before removing himself from Cas’ lap. He feels those eyes on him as he walks over to grab his present and saunters out of the room, sparing one last look over his shoulder.

The rest of the night, he washes dishes with the stupidest smile on his face.

*****

**One Year Later**

The last damn box. It’s been sitting in the corner of their bedroom for months since they got their own place. Dean can’t even remember what’s in it because neither of them put a label on it. Now that Dean has a little free time and it’d be awesome to be officially and completely moved in, it’s time to bring out the box cutter and find a home for whatever’s inside.

Dean lifts it onto the bed, surprised at how light it feels. When he tears open the packing tape and pries the folds open, he bursts out laughing at the contents inside. All his old erotic clothes from his days of dancing.

A couple months after he and Cas started dating, he decided to hang up the G-string in favor of pursing mixology, since he had such a flare for it whenever worked the bar. Before he left, he was able to sneak some of his favorite outfits with him, as well as the many pairs of panties he owned – they all got tossed in one box to avoid Sam seeing them and being scarred for life. Besides, what Dean likes to occasionally wear when he’s hot and bothered is only for him and Cas to know.

Digging through the box leaves a faint smile on Dean’s face. He may have hated working at The Crossroads at times, but he did have fun dancing. Only now, he prefers saving his moves for one person in particular. He’s setting aside a glittery thong when his eyes fall on a familiar box. His smile widens, heart swelling. Grabbing it from under of colorful shreds of fabric, Dean removes the lid and pushes aside the worn, black tissue paper.

Feeling the soft, satin fabric of the pink panties against his fingertips has Dean’s heart accelerating a notch. They don’t look as new as the day Cas gave them to him, but they’re still in pretty damn good shape. Even when he was still dancing, he never wore these for anyone else. Only Cas.

The sound of the apartment door opening has Dean scrambling off the bed. He shoves the other clothes back in the box before hurrying into the attached bathroom.

“Dean?”

“Bedroom!” Dean calls back as he quickly strips off his clothes.

“What are you doing?” Cas asks, voice becoming clearer as he walks into the room.

“You’ll see,” Dean says, grinning to himself. The satin feels heavenly as he slides it up his thighs and over his ass. He spares a moment to look at himself in their floor length mirror hung on the back of the door, satisfied to see the pretty outline his half hard dick makes under the fabric.

“Should I be concerned?” The springs of the bed squeak as Cas sits.

Without any sort of introduction, Dean opens the door, reveling in the way Cas’ mouth drops open, but his eyes grow dark with hunger.

“I don’t know, should you?” Dean drawls as he saunters over to Cas.

“Dean,” Cas breathes, eyes roaming all over his exposed skin.

“I opened up the last box.” Dean stops in front of Cas before doing a little spin to give him a full view. “I’m disappointed we didn’t get to it sooner.”

Cas reaches out to smooth his hand over the lace covering Dean’s hipbone before pulling him closer and looking up into Dean’s eyes. “Me too.”

Dean blushes, despite his confidence only a moment ago. He’s not embarrassed about wearing the panties, but it’s the way Cas makes him feel in them. He’s used to being ogled whenever he wore them for his routines, got called all sorts of names. But Cas… Cas makes him feel like he’s actually worth more than a few dirty singles. No one’s ever looked at Dean the way Cas does, and Dean’s not sure he’ll ever get used to the feeling of being… _loved_ the way Cas loves him. Dean leans down to press a tender kiss to Cas’ lips, which open up to him and allows their tongues to slowly taste each other.

“Can I interest you in a private dance?” Dean murmurs against his lips.

Cas smiles softly. “I’d be honored.”

**Author's Note:**

> [My Tumblr](http://blissfulcastiel.tumblr.com)


End file.
